Only Half
by RadientWings
Summary: Jon may only be their half-brother, but he was their brother nontheless. Defining moments between Jon and his siblings. Pre-series. Family fic. Five-shot, one for each sibling.
1. Robb

**A moment between the brothers; Jon and Robb are 9 in this. Set pre-series. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire do not belong to me**

Jon and Robb ran as fast as they could as they were being chased by Ser Rodrik Cassel. They leapt over the slight fence in front of the smithy, laughing as they sprinted away.

"Get back here boys!" Ser Rodirk bellowed after them in anger, running after them.

Jon and Robb were usually rather well behaved boys; but, they were still just that, _boys_; and boys will be boys, which is probably why they had thought it a good idea to leave a dead rat in Ser Rodrik's chambers.

Hence the chasing and running.

They glanced at each other, before rushing off in a different direction. Robb led, as usual, Jon following close behind. They narrowly avoided one of the guards who had joined the knight in their pursuit, as he held his arm out ready to catch them. Robb darted to the side of the man, whilst Jon ducked under his arm. Robb grabbed Jon's sleeve as he almost tripped, letting him go as soon as he was upright again.

"Come on Snow!" He shouted, turning left into a narrow alleyway. They hid there for a moment, watching as the guards hurried by. As soon as the last guard passed, they let out a sigh of relief, laughing slightly.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Jon asked, uncharacteristically excited.

"He looked like a rat himself! Though a fat, angry one." Robb sniggered causing the other boy to smile slightly. Robb was one of the few people that could make his brother smile. The black-haired boy was normally so straight-faced and serious. A real Northerner their father had once said. Jon had smiled at that too.

"Do you suppose he'll tell Father?" Jon asked suddenly, frown on his face.

"I suppose he will..." Robb agreed, brow creased in worry; they hadn't thought of that. "Don't worry, Snow! We'll just have to get back before he does!" Slowly the elder boy, peeked around the corner, checking to see if the coast was clear. He nodded when he saw it was. The boys made their way out, heads down.

"Circle back! They have to be here somewhere." They heard Ser Rodrik's recognizable voice. Immediately they began back into a sprint. Jon glanced back, expecting to see the knight close by, but was happily surprised when he wasn't. He wasn't so happy, however, when he turned around and ran straight into a guard. He tried to back away but found he couldn't when the guard grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"Well, looky here, if it isn't the Stark bastard? Or should I say Snow?" The man sneered, lips curling around yellowing teeth. Jon struggled trying to get out of his grasp. "Why's the ol' codger after you, anyway? Did you steal somethin' from your father? Suppose you finally showed your true colors, just like the bastard you are."

Jon felt tears rise unbidden to his eyes. The people of the castle had grown used to sight of the boy by now; some even considered as much a Stark as the rest of his siblings. It made him grow comfortable, made him feel as if he something other than what he was; a bastard.

"Let me go!" He shouted. The guard just chuckled and pulled him along. "My father is your liege-lord, he'll-"

"He'll be happy to be rid of ya, I'd bet." The man interrupted with a nasty smirk. "You're just a burden to him, bastard." Jon glared darkly at the guard, fury and hurt ripping his insides, but before he could act on it, the both of them were surprised by a sudden war cry.

"Let go of my brother you arse!" Robb yelled, using the plank of wood he found to hit the guard in the back of the knees as hard as he could, causing the man to come crashing down, letting go of the dark-haired boy in his shock and pain.

Jon fell to the floor in a heap, scrambling to get back up. Robb grasped his forearm helping him. As the eldest Stark child was distracted, the guard had climbed painfully back to his feet, clutching the piece of wood. He looked down at the children, seething in utter rage. He raised the piece of wood, aiming at the back of Robb's head when Jon looked up and noticed. His eyes widened in panic and he shoved his brother out of the way.

"Watch out!"

A second later, Jon felt an intense pain in his shoulder and he fell to his knees with a cry. The pain shot through him and he was faintly aware of Robb in front of him, standing up.

"You would dare harm the child of a lord?" Robb demanded, having an odd amount of power in his voice for a nine-year-old boy. The guard dropped the piece of wood, looking shaken at his own actions. "There will be consequences for this, I can assure you." The young boy stated with a gaze of steel directed at the man in front of him. This seemed to do more harm than good, however, when the guard seemed to gain control of himself and once more looked like he had every confidence in the world.

"The boy's a bastard. Lord Stark will not care."

"Then you clearly don't know my father. You hit one of his sons. Jon may not be trueborn, but he is of his blood. Do you really think that will go unpunished?" Robb retorted in anger, narrowing his eyes. The guard growled slightly, approaching closer with fists clenched, looking as if were about to strike something, or, rather, _someone_. "I would not do that if I were you." The young Stark warned, smirking. "You have already struck one of your lord's sons; I would not make for two." He lowered his voice, and it held a menace unexpected of a child. "I am the future Lord of Winterfell; you would be wise to step back." He snarled.

The guard did seem to have some sense about him, and took a step back. Robb wanted to rip the man's head off for hurting his brother... His brother who had pushed him out of the way of the same fate. Robb knew he was not strong enough to beat the grown man, however, so he had used the lessons that Maester Luwin and his lord father had taught since he could talk. Still, that did not stop him from the dark glares he continued to send to the man.

He knelt down beside Jon, who was clutching his right shoulder. His face set in a grimace of pain. He frowned, strong facade fading. He was but a boy, what was he to do? He didn't know how to help his brother. The gods seemed to be in good spirits, though, when they brought with them the return of Ser Rodrik Cassel.

Though the old knight has initially been prepared to greet Lord Stark's boys in anger, he immediately noticed that something was amiss and instead walked to them briskly, concerned. Once he learned that the Snow boy had been gravely injured, he put all anger aside and set to help the poor lad. He ordered his men to take away the guard that had done this to him, before making to lift the child. He was stopped by the lad's brother.

"I need to come with you." He stated, blue eyes burning into his.

"My Lord, the boy needs to be tended to." He said, sincerely. He grimaced when he heard the small whimper of the injured child.

"Jon." Robb whispered. "His name is Jon and I am his brother. I should go with him. Mother says the fastest way to heal is when you have family there to aid you." Ser Rodrik was surprised by the maturity of the boy that had not an hour ago left a dead critter in his chambers. He nodded.

"As you will, my Lord."

Robb sighed in relief and followed them. When they found Maester Luwin, the old man had been extremely worried, but tended to Jon immediately. Several times the Maester tried to make Robb leave, but he would not have it. Eventually he stopped asking and the Stark heir could not be more grateful. He even helped when the older man popped Jon's shoulder back in. The eventual arrival of Lord Eddard Stark did not sway him either; Robb continues to stand vigil by Jon.

Robb was there through it all, and when Jon awoke, he smiled and said, "Welcome back, Snow."

It's safe to say, neither boy put another dead rat in Ser Rodrik's chambers ever again.

**That's it! It went in a completely different direction than I thought it would, but hopefully it added to the story. Next is Sansa.**

**Thanks for reading and tell me what you think!**

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	2. Sansa

**I never really got to see what the relationship was like with Jon and Sansa so I hope this does it justice. In this Jon is 15, Sansa 11, and Arya 9.**

**Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire belong to their respective owners, which is sadly not me.**

Jon Snow sighed as he listened to Arya's recount about her fight with their sister, Sansa. Again they had been caught squabbling by their lord father, and he had been none too happy. According to little Arya, it was all Sansa's fault, and he was willing to bet that according Sansa, it was all Arya's fault. Jon was a fool to believe that they would ever get along.

The nine-year-old was currently going through their fight again, yelling about how much she _hated_ her sister. Jon knew that Arya didn't really hate the other girl. He knew what true hate was, he was often on the receiving end of it from Lady Catelyn.

This is what he gently explained to the little girl, though leaving out the part where _he_ was the one who was hated. He was eventually able to calm his sister down and ruffled her hair, purposefully getting a rise out of her, but knowing she secretly loved it. He and Arya always had a special bond, both being the different ones of the family. They understood each other.

As the night grew dark, he led his sister back to her chambers, telling her stories warriors and dragons along the way. She had gotten sleepy though, so he ended up carrying her, her head on his shoulder as she dozed off. She was surprisingly light for a nine-year-old. He handed her off to her maids, and went to the direction of his rooms, in the opposite side of the castle.

As he made his way down the winding halls of Winterfell, he heard a small sniffle. He frowned when he heard it again. He turned, and went down a different corridor, a small out-of-the-way hallway that led from the dining hall. There he found the figure of a crying red-headed girl.

"Sansa?" He questioned, looking down at her.

"Jon!" She whipped her head up, caught off guard. She was holding her arm by her side, clutching it. The older boy could see a red stain forming on her sleeve.

"What happened, sister?" Concerned, he crouched down reaching for her arm.

"Don't touch me!" She shrieked backing away and glaring at him with bright blue eyes; Jon clenched his fist before dropping it, a sad look in his eyes. As he got up, even he thought he would leave, but when he heard another little sniffle, he couldn't and instead sat against the wall across from his half-sister. He brought his knees up, resting elbows on them, as he astutely kept his eyes on his hands. Had he been looking, he would have seen Sansa's surprised gaze.

There was nothing said between the two, and the silence grew awkward. Jon and Sansa had very little in common, in fact, the only thing they had was the fact that they were born of the same father. Even with that, Jon garnered little Sansa's respect; she took after her mother. He knew the eleven-year-old girl did not really hate him, but she did not like him either. He was below her.

Jon was more like Arya in his opinion of his other sister; he didn't get along with her either. But, still, Sansa was his sister and his father had taught him loyalty to his family. So he sat and observed the younger girl.

"You should let someone have a look at that." Jon stated, breaking the tentative silence. Sansa didn't reply and looked away instead. "How did that happen?" No answer. "Was it after your spat with Arya?" This time she looked up, confused.

"She told me." He elaborated.

"And I suppose you took her side then?" She said bitterly, a look of disdain about her. "I bet you and that little idiot would be dancing around happily about my arm right now if she knew." This time it was Jon who was confused; why would she think such a thing? The eleven-year-old clearly had some of the wrong ideas in her red-haired head.

"Arya would never wish you harm. She may say she does, but, in her own special way, she cares for you. She would not want to see you hurt, sister... Neither would I." Jon stated, looking straight at her. "I may only be half your brother but we are still blood. A man must always care for his blood." Sansa's defiant look softened a little, turning guilty.

"B-But, I have been horrible to you, Jon. I have treated you like nothing more than a-"

"A bastard?" He interrupted. She nodded once. "Well, that's what I am I suppose; a _bastard._" He could not help the bitter tone that entered his voice.

"No, you're not _just_ a bastard Jon, you're also half my brother." Sansa replied, her voice strangely sweet. Jon met her eyes, surprised to see the sincerity that lay there. He knew that she would never call him a true brother, not really. But this was one of the few times she had actually admitted her relation to him with only kindness. The corners of his lips turned up a bit, though he would deny it later.

Slowly he stood up and approached her, coming to a decision. This time when reached for her arm, she did not pull away. He held her arm gently, turning it to see a deep cut, her normally flawless dress torn.

"What happened?" He asked in a quiet tone, repeating his earlier question.

"After Arya ran, I went for a walk; I was so _furious_ and I... I stumbled." Jon was shocked to see the rather sheepish expression on her tear-stained face.

"Why did you not find your lady mother, or Father?" He asked, curious.

"I didn't want to cause them any more trouble today; they have enough to deal with." She said and he was struck by how _thoughtful _the gesture was. It was not something that his red-headed sister always did. "But it hurt, so I sat down for a rest."

"You should see Maester Luwin, he's a good healer. If you leave it, it could get infected." Jon advised, before abruptly taking his hand away from her arm and reaching for the small dagger he kept on him at all times. Carefully, he cut off a piece of his tunic; the thing was worn anyways. He took and began to wrap it around Sansa's injured arm. She wasn't sure how to react, so she sat perfectly still as her half-brother worked. Once he was done, he stood once more.

"You'll still need to see Maester Luwin, he will give a proper examination." Jon said. "Come on. I'll take you to him."

"But..." Sansa whispered.

"Don't worry I won't tell Father, or your mother. They have enough on their plate as is." He shot her a knowing look and for once he felt camaraderie with her she smiled back at him.

He led her down the hall, as she told him stories of brave knights and beautiful maidens who lived in palaces beyond their imagination. She didn't seem to notice, but in her fervour, called him 'brother', for once leaving the 'half' off.

Jon didn't mind, however. In fact, he did something that was rare for the otherwise sullen boy.

He smiled.

**That's it! I'm sorry if it's a bit OOC, I wasn't sure how to write Sansa. Next is Arya ;) Anyways, I hope you liked it! Tell me what you think!**

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	3. Arya

**Thanks to Too lazy to sign in (haha), LovingBOBThePacific, mpenguin15, and stromberg for reviewing! In this Arya is 10 and Jon is 16. I love these two and I can't help but favour this chapter slightly over the others :)**

**Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and ASOIAF do not belong to me.**

Jon still remembered the day he met his sister, Arya. She had been barely a week old, and Father had brought him to see her. Whilst Sansa and Robb had cooed about their new baby sister, he had spent a week wondering what she looked like; Lady Catelyn had refused him access to her newborn daughter, not wanting Jon to have a close relationship with another one of her children. Eventually though, Father had put a stop to it and took his young son to meet the babe.

She had been tiny even then, Jon remembered. Small and almost frail-looking; Maester Luwin had worried for the girl's survival. But she had proved herself a Stark, and was a fussy and strong child, indeed. The first time he saw her, she had been lying in a bundle of furs, resting lightly as her father and brother watched over her. Lady Catelyn had gone out then, for the first time since the birthing, needing the fresh air and leaving her tiny daughter in the capable hands of her husband and, unbeknownst to her, his son.

He remembered his panic when Father had handed him Arya, his little sister. He had been so afraid to drop her. He also remembered how she fit perfectly in his boyish arms, a warm heat source you could carry. He could picture, even now, more than six years later, how she had started fussing and crying when he had attempted to put her down and how she had calmed when Jon held her again.

It was from that moment that Jon had promised himself that he would always care for little Arya. That he would protect her with everything he had, even his life.

She had soon shown him that she didn't need him to do so. Even at the tender age of three, she was a fierce girl, the fire within her burned brightly. She was innately unafraid and always brave. It made her reckless, wild, protective and lovable. The direwolf sigil of their house and her were truly one and the same.

It was made it so hard to see the bright little girl cry.

Her small fists were curled into her face, dark hair so much like his own as messy as usual. When she cried she was surprisingly silent, preferring to keep her pain internal. It was the complete opposite of what she was usually like; loud and boisterous and out of control.

It hurt his heart to see her so sad.

He sat down next to her on the stone, watching the waters of the Godswood, the summer snow spreading around them. They said no word to one another. Jon knew it was best to let her speak on her own; pushing Arya to do something was never a good idea.

"Who do you think I am, Jon?" She asked suddenly, sounding much older than her ten years, as she peeked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I am not Lady Arya of Winterfell; Septa Mordane always tells me so. I am not perfect Sansa. I am not a singer or a mender. I will never marry a high lord and become his Lady. I am not a Lord either. I will never become a knight or fight battles. I have four brothers for that. So, then, who am I if I am none of that?"

"I will never become a Lord, either, you know." He stated, rather than answering her question. She looked at him in surprise, having never considered such a thing before. "What highborn Lady would want to marry a bastard?"

"But, you are not just any baseborn! You are the son of Lord Stark!" She stated with fervour, getting up from her perch as she looked at him in anger. _Anything was better than her tears_, Jon thought.

"The son of a Lord, yes, but a bastard all the same." Jon replied, monotonously.

"But you are more than that! You are good and kind and honourable and you know how to a wield a sword." She ranted, pacing through the muddy undergrowth of the Godswood. Jon reached out to still her, holding her gently by the shoulders so she was facing him. For a moment he wanted to smile, seeing she was still a tad smaller than him even as he sat, still, the seriousness of the topic wiped away all cheer.

"You are kind to say so, little sister, but that won't change anything; My surname remains Snow, just as yours remains Stark." Arya looked down at her feet.

"But why should any of that matter?" She whispered.

"I don't know, Arya. It's just the way of the world, I suppose."

"Well, the world is stupid then. Why does it matter if I do not want sit and dance and do ladylike things? Why can't I be a warrior like you?" She glanced back up at him then, grey eyes meeting his black ones, as tears dripped from them. "Why can't Mother and Septa Mordane and Sansa let me be? Why must they scold me for being me?" Her face crumpled slightly, and he could see she was trying to hold in sobs.

Jon lifted his hands to her face, wiping away stray tears with his thumbs. He knew what it was to be different, to be disapproved of. He just wished Arya didn't feel his pain; she shouldn't have to! She was a trueborn daughter to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Yes, she was not like other little ladies, but she was _still_ a lady, should she not be respected as such? Yet, here she was, crying her heart out.

"You _are_ a warrior, Arya and I'd bet a better one than me." He said. She scoffed, shaking her head.

"You jest."

"I do not jest, sweet sister. You are the fiercest person I know, do you realize? You fight for your beliefs and for what you deem is right. You are brave and you are strong. Tell me, what else does a warrior have?" Jon asked, eyebrow raised.

"A sword." She muttered in return, and Jon let out a low chuckle.

"And maybe one day you'll have one, but, now, you cannot let yourself be downed by words. You're a fearsome warrior, remember?" She gave him a watery smile. "No more tears, little sister." He pushed her unruly hair behind her ear before taking his hands away and folding them in his lap. She came to sit beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her skinny shoulders. He suddenly felt her arms encircle his waist and squeeze him tightly. He returned her embrace, dropping a kiss in her hair and then looked down at Arya who was now looking back up at him with big eyes.

"Thank you, Jon." He ruffled her hair in return, smirking as she pulled away with a scolding frown. "_Jo-on_!" She whined.

"Believe, Arya, it helped." He replied grinning as he avoided a hit to the shoulder, before getting up and escaping the little ball of fury.

"You'll pay for that!" She growled, chasing after her older brother.

It was in that moment that Jon realized, as he ran away from his little sister, that Jon realized he did not only protect Arya, but that she protected him as well. He was never 'half-brother' to her, and she was never 'my lady' to him. They were simply brother and sister.

And that's exactly what they needed.

**Sorry if Arya was a bit OOC! Anyways, I hope you liked it and let me know what you think! **

**Next up: Bran :P**

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	4. Bran

**Bran and Jon have a little brotherly moment; Bran is 7 and Jon is 14. **

**Thank you to torimoritheTSGluvr, shadowfaxangel (x3), LovingBOBThePacific, and mpenguin15 for reviewing.**

Jon watched as Bran scaled the high walls of the keep, looking almost as if he belonged there, up in the sky. The young boy leapt from one roof to another causing his elder brother a moment of panic, which soon passed as Bran landed steadily. Bran was always surefooted, Jon had to remind himself, he would never fall.

Still, it seemed his climbing worried his entire family, who were uncomfortable watching him scurry about at such heights. Lady Catelyn would often try to stop him from scaling the stones of Winterfell for good. Not that this deterred Bran, however. Yes, he would oft stop his expeditions for a day or two, but the temptation proved too great, and he would soon return to climbing.

Jon dropped his gaze as he noticed said Lady walking through the courtyard smiling at several people as they passed. Lady Catelyn's smile soon turned to ice, her gaze hard and full of barely hidden hatred as she spotted her husband's son. There had been a time when Jon wished for nothing more than to see a warm smile directed his way, maybe a tender embrace given as well. Those dreams had long since been shattered.

He remembered one time when he had called her 'Mother', he was only two or three at the time, four at the most. He had heard Robb calling her that, and thought that, since they were brothers, she was his mother too. He hadn't understood what bastard meant at the time. It was one of his earliest memories, seeing her face turn horrified as she heard him call her as such, and how she abruptly smacked his cheek in response. It was the only time Lady Catelyn had ever raised a hand to him. Still, it was enough and since then, Jon knew that she would never find any love in her heart for him, no matter how hard he tried.

And yet, he also remembered the way her face had lit up when Bran first called her that, and he remembered the burning pain in his chest as he saw her pick up the toddler swinging him around in his arms. Jon knew it was not his little brother's fault, but he could not help but feel some resentment towards him; he had a mother who adored him.

Lady Catelyn glared once, before turning away from him, ignoring Jon's presence completely; she had taken to that after the whole 'Mother' incident. Jon heard ask a serving girl if she had spotted Bran. Jon knew that someone would soon tell her that Bran was up on the walls, _again_, and he knew she would not be in a spectacular mood after being in his proximity. She would surely be angrier with young Bran than usual, and Jon didn't want to be the one to blame for his misery. So, taking in all courage, he approached his step-mother.

"M'lady." He said in a quiet voice, his head bowed a little. Lady Catelyn turned to him, both shocked and angered that he dare speak to her. "Bran has not been out of the keep this morn."

There was a moment of silence as Jon waited with bated breath.

"I had not asked you… and it is _Lord_ Bran to you." She said, obviously struggling to keep her calm. Abruptly, she turned around and headed back to the keep, not once glancing back to the dark-haired boy. Jon breathed a sigh of relief; _that was not too bad_.

A minute later he heard the sound of two feet hitting the ground softly behind him and he turned to greet the little lord himself. He smirked down at the younger boy, crossing his arms in front of his chest, fully prepared for a bout of teasing. He stopped short, however, when he saw Bran frowning back at him, looking decidedly upset about something.

"What's the matter?" Jon asked as Bran glanced down to his feet, scuffing his shoes in the dirt.

"Nothing." He replied, not looking Jon's way.

"You're lying." The older boy said, his tone firm. "Now, tell me what's bothering you." After a short moment of silence, Bran opened his mouth.

"Is… Is Mother always like that to you?" He asked in an uncertain voice, having heard the exchange between his family members.

Jon took a second to answer. Lady Catelyn never usually talked to him, but if she deemed to… she was always 'like that' to him. But, Jon knew that the lady was his brother's own mother, and, no matter his own feelings, he should not attempt to separate them.

"Oft times." Jon replied, just as hesitantly. Bran looked up at him, sadly as he sighed heavily. "But, you must understand Bran, she is well within in her right to. I am not her son, and, to her, I am not really Father's son either; I am simply a bastard, proof of her husband's… unfaithfulness." At seeing Bran's unhappy look, Jon continued. "But, just because she treats me as such does not make her any less your mother, nor does it make her love you any less."

Normally, Jon did not touch on these sorts of subjects as they brought an unwanted ache to his heart, but he knew that the concept of 'bastard' was still strange to Bran and that the young boy could use some type of guidance in the matter… So, he tried his best to explain.

"But…" Bran's meek voice broke into his thoughts. "But, if Mother hates you, and _I _don't… will she stop loving me?"

"No Bran, like I said, your mother loves you and she will never stop loving you." Jon's voice thickened a bit though he pretended not to notice. The words were worth it, however, when he saw Bran's face lighten a little, a small smile of relief playing around his mouth.

"What about _your_ mother, Jon?" Jon's heart stopped in his chest at Bran's innocent question. He hadn't expected it and the surprise shook him for a moment. He cleared his throat, a little painfully, to answer.

"I have no mother." He said quietly, eyes to the ground. He turned his head up slightly when he felt a hand suddenly on his arm, looking at Bran curiously.

"But you do have a family, right Jon?" Bran asked, and this time his question brought a smile to the other's face.

"Yes, yes I do." He replied. It was true. He had all of his siblings. And yes, though they were only half, he called them siblings, for, to him, that was exactly what they were and no less. He also had his father, his uncle and Even several members of their household. So yes, he certainly had a family and a good one at that.

Abruptly, Jon clapped Bran cheerfully once on the back, before turning to walk away. Before he left though, he turned back and smirked at his younger brother. "You should get to the keep, I have a feeling your mother is looking for you there."

He chuckled as Bran's eyes widened in sudden realization and panic as he scurried off towards the keep, tripping over his feet a little. _Bran really does belong up in the sky and not on the ground_.

Jon knew he would have to tease Bran about his clumsiness later on, it was just too good to let slide.

Besides, isn't that what family does?

**That went completely differently than I thought it would. This was actually the hardest one to write yet, probably because I'm not really sure about how Bran feels about Jon from just watching the show. Anyways, next up is Rickon!**

**Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!**

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	5. Rickon

**Thank you to golden elanor, mepenguin15, robinsmum, LovingBOBThePacific and BlueSapphire92 for reviewing. In this Rickon is six and Jon is 17. I had no idea what to do with Rickon and Jon so I looked a little into my own life experience. Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF**

Jon knew Rickon hated being the youngest of the family. Having four, well, _five_ older siblings was not something the young boy enjoyed, and it was something that his brothers and sisters tended to miss.

Rickon was the baby of the family, he knew. He was spoiled by them all, but, also, he had noticed, largely ignored. Whenever the youngest Stark tried to say something, the others would speak over him because, what was important to Rickon, was not really important to _them_.

Yes, they babied him and pampered him and they all adored the boy… but they never really listened to him. They often forgot that children needed to have their voices heard. Even if they wanted to talk of something silly like a new game they invented or the monsters in Old Nan's stories.

They forgot, but Jon didn't.

Jon seemed to be the only one who had noticed little Rickon's struggle speak out. Then again, Jon always had had a knack for seeing things, when one was as quiet as he, it gave you a chance to really notice things; it was also in his nature, he supposed. So, of course, he noticed when that same little boy was running through the courtyard, holding a small satchel and an apple, looking as if he was about to face his doom. And, of course, Jon did the responsible thing; he followed him.

Rickon wandered to the castle gates, ducking behind some crates to avoid the guard spotting him, Jon almost chuckled at this but kept quiet. As soon as the guard looked away, a small figure darted from behind the crates and vanished through the gates the next second.

Jon simply nodded to the guard and continued to follow his younger brother; wondering what he was doing. They walked for several minutes, Rickon looking all around but momentarily forgetting to check behind him.

It was only a little later, that Rickon finally noticed he had a follower and as soon as he saw his older brother, his eyes had widened almost comically. He tried to escape from Jon, but it was too late, and his brother too close. Jon had quickly snatched Rickon up, grabbing him under his arms.

"Woah there, little brother." Jon said, his voice calming as Rickon struggled against him for a few moments. It was only when the younger boy finally stilled that the other loosened his grip slightly. "If I put you down, will you stay close?" Rickon glared at his elder brother but nodded anyways, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a huff of defiance when Jon did as promised.

"You made me drop my apple." The little boy stated, still glaring. The seriousness of Rickon's expression combined with his angry stance could only make Jon let out a low chuckle.

"Forgive me, I meant it not as any offense." He said through his smile. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, but where do you think you're going?" For a moment the littlest Stark gave no answer.

"Away." Came his small voice suddenly.

"Away." Jon repeated, an eyebrow raised. "Why is that, exactly?"

"Because." Rickon looked away, staring at his feet as he shuffled awkwardly. With a weary sigh, Jon placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, before crouching down so he could look him in the eye.

"Why?" He asked once more.

"No one ever listens to me. They think I am stupider than them." Rickon replied, his voice sounding older than his six years, the sadness bringing it down. "I'm not needed there." There was a moment of silence as Jon processed as much; it was pretty much what he had expected.

He suddenly straightened from his crouch, an idea popping with his head.

"So you want to run away?" Jon asked, to which little Rickon nodded. "Alright then." Had it been any other time, he would have laughed at his younger brother's decidedly shocked expression. "I won't stop you… If you want to go live out there, all on your own, then it is up to you, brother."

"W-What?" Jon ignored Rickon's question, instead reaching down to pick up the fallen apple, handing it to the boy.

"You may need this. There is not much food to be found on the Kingsroad and it's near a week's walk to get to the next city." Jon glanced at the youngest Stark; pleased to see his plan was already working when he saw the boy's face pale slightly. "Did you bring any spare clothes? Gold?"

When Rickon didn't answer, Jon reached for the satchel around the boy's neck, looking through it.

"Well, at least you brought some extra breeches." He murmured before reaching to a heavy pouch on his belt, pulling it off and quickly placing it in Rickon's small hands. "Here is some gold, it should be enough to grant you passage to Wintertown, or it may buy you enough food to last a few days." He placed the satchel back over the younger's shoulders. "Good luck on your journey and farewell."

Without another word, Jon turned around and began walking the other direction, leaving a speechless Rickon in his wake.

Jon did not have to wait long until he felt a small hand tug on his own, causing him look down at the very same boy he had left only moments before. Jon graced his brother with a rare smile, before pulling him along back to the gates of Winterfell, knowing he would not attempt to run away from their home.

"You know, you're family may not always listen, but they do care for you." Jon's sudden announcement was only met with silence. "They will listen to you soon enough and, even they don't, running away is not the answer, Rickon. You are a Stark, and when winter is coming, Starks stay and fight." He glanced down at his brother again, to see him looking back up, considering. "Besides, why would you want to leave? You have food on the table, a warm bed at night, all of your friends are here, you're parents, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran…" Jon mumbled to himself.

"And I have you." Rickon added in, louder than before, already trying to get himself heard.

"That you do." Jon replied, bending down suddenly to lift the boy in his arms, proceeding to carry his youngest brother back to the castle.

In that moment, Jon knew Rickon would be just fine. He had found his voice, after all.

**That's the close for Only Half, I hope you all enjoyed it and I just want to thank all of you who stuck with it! If any of you like this kind of family fic for GOT, you may see similar ones from me, so be on the look out!**

**Thanks again!**

**RW**


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